Mildred was there, more beautiful than ever, and to gain her love Diotti would have bartered his soul that moment. The first movement of the suite was entitled "Pity," and the music flowed like melodious tears. A subdued sob rose and fell with the sadness of the theme. Mildred's eyes were moistened as she fixed them on the lone figure of the player. Now the theme of pity changed to hope, and hearts grew brighter under the spell. The next movement depicted joy. As the _virtuoso's_ fingers darted here and there, his music seemed the very laughter of fairy voices, the earth looked roses and sunshine, and Mildred, relaxing her position and leaning forward in the box, with lips slightly parted, was the picture of eager happiness. The final movement came. Its subject was love. The introduction depicted the Arcadian beauty of the trysting place, love-lit eyes sought each other intuitively and a great peace brooded over the hearts of all. Then followed the song of the Passionate Pilgrim: "_If music and sweet poetry agree, As they must needs, the sister and the brother, Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other._ * * * * * _Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phoebus' lute (the queen of music) makes; And I in deep delight, am chiefly drown'd When as himself to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as poets feign, One knight loves both, and both in thee remain._" [Illustration: He took her hand reverently] Grander and grander the melody rose, voicing love's triumph with wondrous sweetness and palpitating rhythm. Mildred, her face flushed with excitement, a heavenly fire in her eyes and in an attitude of supplication, reveled in the glory of a new found emotion. As the violinist concluded his performance an oppressive silence pervaded the house, then the audience, wild with excitement, burst into thunders of applause. In his dressing-room Diotti was besieged by hosts of people, congratulating him in extravagant terms. Mildred Wallace came, extending her hands. He took them almost reverently. She looked into his eyes, and he knew he had struck the chord responsive in her soul. VIII The sun was high in the heavens when the violinist awoke. A great weight had been lifted from his heart; he had passed from darkness into dawn. A messenger brought him this note: _My Dear Signor Diotti--I am at home this afternoon, and shall be delighted to see you and return my thanks for the exquisite pleasure you gave me last evening. Music, such as yours, is indeed the voice of heaven._ _Sincerely, Mildred Wallace._ The messenger returned with this reply: _My Dear Miss Wallace--I will call at three to-day._ _Gratefully, Angelo Diotti._